


Calm After The Storm

by RichieBrook



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BDSM, D/s, Dom!Sebastian, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sub!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieBrook/pseuds/RichieBrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The heat is killing him, so he collars his boss and waits for the storm to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm After The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Pluppelina requested MorMor+thunderstorms+dynamics. Took me a month. I'd say I'm sorry, but it's 3AM and I'm really not. (sorry!)

He’d been waiting for it all day,  and it was with a delighted sigh that he welcomed that first bright flash lighting the dark night skies of London. The rain had been coming down steadily for hours and it had calmed him, sure it had, but this - the thunder, the horroresque flashes, the wind howling against the windows - _this_ was the real deal. This was why he’d merely nodded when Sebastian had told him to go to sleep (“ _Now_ , Jim”), ignoring the simple order without wasting another one of his thoughts on it. The sniper was right behind him, his breathing shallow and unsteady as he touched the leather around Jim’s neck with trembling fingers. They didn’t speak. They hadn’t spoken much all day.  
  
_His sniper had been waiting. After the front door fell closed behind him, Jim was barely given the time to take off his shoes and loosen his tie. Sebastian appeared within seconds, effectively blocking Jim’s way to the living room as he leant against the doorframe. Everyone seemed quite tiny in comparison to the 6’5 broad-shouldered, muscular sniper that was Sebastian Moran, but standing in the doorway, he seemed of an even more impressive size. His dark blond hair was held out of his eyes by a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses, perched on top of his head, and tiny droplets of sweat covered his brow. He was wearing a loose shirt and a pair of old shorts that made him look like he was about to burst out of his clothes.  Jim grinned a mocking grin that didn’t last. A thin strip of leather dangled from his sniper’s long fingers._  
  
“You’re awake.” Sebastian’s low voice sent a pleasant shiver up Jim’s spine, and he nodded, not bothering to tear his gaze away from the window. Before bed, Sebastian had closed the curtains like he always did, but Jim had pulled them aside again. He hadn’t claimed the spot closest to the window to stare at all grey curtains at night.  
“Yeah. It’s nice,” he murmured, pulling the covers up over his shoulders, even though the heat had never left the apartment after creeping in that afternoon. Sweaty strands of hair fell in front of his face, and Jim brushed them back with a sigh.  The rain ticked against the windows, and for a few minutes, it was quiet except for that one reassuring sound. Sebastian tossed and turned.  
  
_The leather fitted snugly around his neck, and it was sticky and hot and uncomfortable against his skin, but Jim didn’t mind, because Sebastian was leaving him no choice._  
_“Come.” The sniper gestured for him to follow, and they marched straight into the garden. Jim hit his knees on a blue seat cushion on the lawn. In the shade, thank God for that. Sebastian sat in a chair; read Goethe, or Salinger, or whatever the fuck it was that he read on bad days, and raked rough fingers through Jim’s dark hair in steady motions. Jim was quiet and closed his eyes._  
  
An arm snaked around Jim’s waist, and it was much too hot for such nonsense, but Sebastian was insistent. Jim shifted, testing his grip, and sank back against his sniper’s chest with a sigh. Even placing an elbow between Sebastian’s ribs seemed like too much of an effort with this weather.  
Sebastian’s skin was slick with sweat. “Was I too rough with you today?”  
A question that made a childish laugh bubble up in Jim’s throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the leather. Still there. Still safe. “Don’t you think I’d let you know?”  
“You tend to forget your safeword.” Sebastian’s voice was rough with sleep and worry.  
And he was right, of course. Jim’s own safety was rarely of Jim’s concern.  However, “I’d let you know. Don’t go soft now. Sleep.” He knew when to leave Sebastian to it; when to let him have that illusion of really, really being in charge. He wondered what it’d been this time. Whether Sebastian had heard something on the news about his father, or fucked up a job or found out his favourite rifle would have to go into repair. He wondered, but didn’t ask. Thunder roared above the house and Sebastian’s grip tightened on his waist. Another bright flash ripped through the dark. Jim wanted to squeal in delight, much like a four year-old would.  
  
_Dinner was a blur. Sebastian fed Jim pieces of bread, cold salad and cool wine from his own cup, letting him have a sip for every few bites. He drank twice as much himself, and Jim let him. Let him be semi-intellectual over Goethe (or Salinger), let him gulp down his Sauvignon Blanc as if it were lemonade and tighten his grip on Jim’s neck. Sebastian’s hand was clammy and his fingers tense. Neither he nor Jim said a word._  
  
“You didn’t break your rifle.”  
“I don’t break my goddamn rifles. That’s your thing, Kitten.”  
And it was. Kitten.  
  
_It was a quick fuck above anything else. No restraints, no toys, no excitement and no pleasure to be gained by Jim. Sebastian rutted against him, then plunged into him, rapidly and steadily. Jim made a show of stifling a yawn, twinkling eyes meeting Sebastian’s dark and dull ones. Go for it, those eyes said. Fuck it all out. And Sebastian fucked and pounded and moaned, but the summer air was stuffy, closing up his throat. Suffocating him._  
  
The hollow look in Sebastian’s eyes made Jim suspect he was contemplating the inside of the fridge, mentally raiding it for alcoholic beverages. Then, he opened his mouth, and his words sounded just as distant as he’d looked all day. “Come kneel for me, Jim.”  
The request was out of place, with the both of them in bed, tired after a long day, but Jim complied. Wordlessly, he slid onto the floor. When Sebastian sat down behind him, resting his legs on either side of him, he laid his head against his sniper’s right knee. “You didn’t fuck up today. At work. I’d have known.”  
Sebastian’s laugh was forced. “You’d have known, Sir.”  
“I’d have known, _Sir_.”  
  
_Sebastian had said to “get yourself cleaned up” and Jim had, before donning one of Sebastian’s old university college tees and pulling on a pair of jeans shorts. (Sebastian’s were ridiculous; his were Paul Smith.) Dark evening skies wrapped the house into a tight cocoon of oppressive warmth, ticking like a time bomb until hell would break loose. Bombs. Sebastian dug his heels into the soft sofa._  
  
_That was where Jim found him (him, and his piece of troubled-male-protagonist literature). In the living room, where it smelled like fresh coffee and rain that had yet to come down. He let Sebastian fit the collar around his neck for a second time, before reclaiming his spot on the blue cushion. “There’s a storm coming. Brilliant.”_  
_Sebastian ignored him, his jaw tight and his fists balled. He turned a page, sipping his coffee. There was coffee for Jim too. Black with one sugar, just how he liked it._  
  
The heat was building, and Sebastian was all tense muscle and shallow breathing. Jim poked an elbow into his shin despite the heat. Sebastian gave him a push. Stop it, Kitten, I’m not breathing.  
  
Jim stopped, and Sebastian wiped clammy hands on their sheets. Deserts weren’t clammy. There was no rain. It hadn’t rained when the new recruits landed and it hadn’t rained when blood stained the golden sand. Deserts weren’t clammy, but they were hot and they sure were suffocating.  
  
_They went straight to bed. As if the heat wasn’t enough. Sebastian usually laughed about how much caffeine affected him. Neither of them was laughing as they tossed their clothes in the hamper. Sebastian closed the curtains, shutting the world out. Jim opened the curtains, eager to invite the storm that was sure to come. Neither of them was smiling as they got into bed. Hot and sticky and so goddamn uncomfortable._  
  
Epiphany. “Open the windows. C’mon, Jimmy, open them. Fresh air, that’s what we need.”  
They’d sat in silence for minutes now, watching the sky get darker and darker as rain hammered down onto the windows. Jim had been dozing off, right there, on his knees on the wooden floor. Up until Sebastian suddenly pushed him, a strong hand on the small of his back. He wanted to protest, using a string of creative swearwords to convince the sniper to let him stay where he was, but the frown on Sebastian’s face told him enough. Jim scrambled to his feet, watching the sky light up as another deafening bang rang through his ears. “The place will be soaked within seconds,” he murmured.  
  
He opened the windows. Reclaimed his spot on the floor, and stated: “It’s the heat.”  No broken rifles or work issues.  
Yes, Kitten, the heat.  
  
_“Go to sleep. Now, Jim.”_  
_Sebastian’s voice was as tight as it had been when he’d presented Jim with his collar, that afternoon._  
  
Both windows wide open. Rain soaking the window-sill. A wave of fresh, deliciously crisp evening air washed into the room. Sebastian inhaled deeply through his nose. Jim nuzzled his thigh. On his knees, struggling to keep his eyes open. Sebastian’s fingers tightened in his hair. Thanks, Kitten.  
  
And the temperature lowered. Lowered to the point where boots and uniforms and sandy plains turned crisp and clean and unimportant. Lowered to the point where Jim was his and his alone. Gorgeous, willing Jim. Sebastian closed his eyes. Gestured for Jim to come up again. And Jim did, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He didn’t protest when Sebastian wrapped strong arms around him, and he didn’t protest when Sebastian kissed him. On the forehead, and on the lips.  
  
Rain was ruining the expensive wooden floors, and Sebastian’s books by the window. Jim turned in his arms, his breathing slow and steady. The sniper smiled, and just like that, he felt like he could breathe again.


End file.
